


nothing on my tongue but hallelujah

by fictionalcandie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-01
Updated: 2011-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalcandie/pseuds/fictionalcandie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James loves winning, and he could never surpass what he’s won today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing on my tongue but hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

  * For [duva](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=duva).



Any other day, James probably wouldn’t get past considering what he’s about to actually do. But today, he’s flushed with victory — just won the Quidditch Cup for his first year as Captain; Merlin’s lacy knickers, he feels like he could fly _without_ his broom — watching Sirius burst upon him in the otherwise-empty locker rooms, his eyes fever-bright with vicarious triumph, and it doesn’t seem like there’s a good reason not to do what he’s thinking, right now.

“You did it, Prongs,” Sirius crows, and his arms around James are sudden, pulling him in close and tight, voice fierce by his ear. “You _did_ it, you great beautiful prat!”

“I know,” James says into Sirius’s neck. He breathes deeply, taking in sweaty excitement and _Sirius_ and home.

“A barely half-decent team, up against seven Seventh years, down by _two hundred points_ , no chance in hell of winning the game much less the _Cup_ —” Sirius lets go, pushes James back by the shoulders and gives him a good, solid shake. He laughs, wild and beautiful and joyous. “You _did_ it.”

“Yeah,” says James, automatically — and then he’s crowding Sirius back hard against the lockers, hands heavy on his chest, pressing him flush against the cold metal, and Sirius is _still grinning at him_.

“Sirius…”

“James,” Sirius replies, his voice softer and his grin less wide, but with something impossibly bright dancing in his eyes. “You _won_.”

“Yeah?”

The pace of Sirius’s breathing picks up, and his eyes flash. He makes no move to shove James away, hands quiescent at his sides. “Yeah.”

Deliberately, James takes a step forward, places his foot between Sirius’s, forces Sirius’s legs apart with his thigh. “What’d I win?”

James isn’t talking about the Quidditch Cup, and he’s pretty sure that—

“Depends,” says Sirius, tipping his head back against the lockers — his arched neck a tempting, absurdly elegant line of unexplored, unmarked skin — and looking at James through the dark fall of his lashes. “What do you want to have won?”

— yeah, Sirius knows he isn’t.

James surges forward and kisses him.

Sirius responds like he’s magic, and James the wand controlling him; lighting up under James’s lips and reaching for him, clutching James closer — closer than James has ever been, not as close as he wants to be — with his long clever fingers, pushing against James like _he_ doesn’t think they’re close enough, either. He kisses James back, and it’s exactly the way James thought he’d kiss, unrestrained and eager, a hairsbreadth off of violent, dark and demanding and _wanting_ , as much Sirius in this as he is in everything else.

James has wanted this, wants it, wants _Sirius_ , so badly it’s an ache under his ribs, a pounding rabid thing in his brain, and with Sirius pale and dark and wicked and shining in front of him, offering in every line of his presence (he’s always offered James too much), he’s going to _take it_.

He says so, imperiously, shoving it into the kiss, forcing space between them so that Sirius has to register the words and not just the intent in his voice.

“Yes,” Sirius responds immediately, hands like vices on James’s hips, keeping him tight in the cradle of Sirius’s thighs, spread now to allow James between them. “Fuck, James, yeah, do it. Want you to.”

Swearing, leaning in hard, James slots their mouths together better, lets Sirius try to devour him with kisses.

James wonders what another person would think, if they were found like this. Wonders what would happen if someone walked in and saw James and Sirius, kissing deeply and rutting wildly together. Would they be appalled? Shocked, certainly — how many times has he heard it, that phrase that follows them everywhere like a shadow?

_Potter and Black are like brothers._

The thing is, James doesn’t want Sirius as a brother. He’s never wanted that, but even if he had, he certainly doesn’t want it anymore. No, he wants now what he’s always wanted, from the moment he first really got to _know_ Sirius — though now there’s _awareness_ behind the want — and that’s to have Sirius be his, entirely and completely, every way a person can belong to another, and a few ways besides. James will make up ways, if he has to; Sirius should be, will be, his, any and every way imaginable.

Sirius is _his_.

“Mine,” James says, on the thought, with an uncoordinated yank at Sirius’s robes. He pulls, bunching the material awkwardly around Sirius’s stomach, and tries to push it higher without taking his mouth away from Sirius’s. “You’re gonna be mine. I want you.”

He gets a thready moan in answer. Sirius shoves at him until James leans back a fraction, gasps an urgent, “Already yours,” then grabs for the massed fabric of his robes and drags the whole lot up over his head and off entirely.

“ _Sirius_.”

“Yours. Yours, fucking always been yours,” Sirius swears, and reels James back in, drags him against that slender, pale chest, James’s Quidditch gear rubbing over bare skin and drawing gasp after gasp.

“Yes, yes,” groans James, dragging Sirius’s pants down. Sirius squirms until he can kick them off and away, and then he’s entirely naked, hipbones sharp and prominent in James’s hands, one skinny leg lifting and wrapping around James’s thighs, pulling him in. 

James curls his fingers, lets his nails bite into flesh, marking the skin above Sirius’s arse. He moves his mouth down, sets his lips against the flutter of Sirius’s speeding pulse. “ _Mine_.”

“Mine, too,” says Sirius, and James’s head spins with such a powerful sense of _rightness_ that it takes him a moment to realise Sirius is repeating it, a steady stream of “Mine, mine, yours, _mine_ ,” as he fumbles James’s safety kit around enough to get his cock out, already almost painfully hard.

Sirius’s hand is sure around James, his palm smooth, his fingers so _long_ , his grip so _tight_ , so _good_. He doesn’t mess around, goes right for it and starts jacking James off. His strokes are quick, swift up and down motion with a clever twist up by the head every few strokes, and it’s all so self-confident and _Sirius_ that James is suddenly, irrationally sure that it’s the rhythm Sirius uses to get himself off. He’s using it on _James_ , now, and James— James would never be able to replicate it, even if he got every last motion down exactly— and it’s _perfect_ , he doesn’t know how he ever lived without it.

“Sirius,” he breathes, brokenly, as Sirius presses his own erection against James’s hip, thrusts against leather and crimson fabric instead of skin. Sirius _whimpers_ , and just like that, James is coming, teeth sinking into Sirius’s neck, holding back his shout.

The world goes gray and hazy, Sirius the only distinct thing anywhere, brilliant and naked as he grinds his hips in frantically. James doesn’t know how long it is before Sirius’s movements stutter and he comes too, arching hard and shuddering all over, a possessive promise the last thing on his lips, but it feels like no time at all, not _nearly_ enough time for how badly James has decided he loves having Sirius like this. 

Sirius’s fingers spasm around James’s sensitive, softening cock, making him gasp. “Fuck, James,” he groans. “Now I’m _extra_ bloody well glad you won, mate.”

“I’ma hold you to it,” James mumbles, words dragging over Sirius’s skin. “ _Mine_. Gonna keep you mine.”

There’s laughter, satisfied and delighted, in Sirius’s voice as he replies, “Of _course_ you are.”

Leaning back and looking at Sirius, James smiles, sharp and victorious.

**Author's Note:**

> This work can also be read [here on LJ](http://gailsauce.livejournal.com/83317.html) or [here on DW](http://gailsauce.dreamwidth.org/83011.html).


End file.
